Toasted
by cmar
Summary: PRSPD: What do you do when you're a Ranger who has everything? If your name is Bridge, you build a toaster, of course.


Power Rangers SPD and all associated characters belong to Disney/Saban.  
Red Dwarf and all associated characters belong to Grant/Naylor Productions.  
I am using them without permission, however I have not and don't expect to make money from this.

A/N: This came out of a discussion on the RangerWiki forum (links in my profile) about the common fanon that Bridge is obsessed with buttery toast. I starting wondering what would happen if he met someone (or some_thing_) who really _is_ obsessed with toast, and the rest is history. Thanks go to Robster72 for beta-reading and for his very funny Red Dwarf fics, and to Daylight for the suggestion that really made this idea work.

Takes place after the series end, and therefore some spoilers.

- - -

**Toasted**

"Hey, where's Bridge?"

Sky winced at the voice from behind him as he sat in the SPD lounge, trying to concentrate on his book. "Where's Bridge, where's Bridge," he muttered under his breath mockingly, and then out loud, "Why should I know where he is?"

"You were his roommate," Z's voice stated, now from over his shoulder as she leaned on the couch back. "Doesn't that imply some sort of connection?"

"The operative word being 'were', as in past tense." After Jack had left, Sky had inherited not only the red Ranger suit but his own room, too, and about time.

"Yeah, whatever." Z sighed. "So do you know where he is or don't you?"

"No, I do not. He's been spending a lot of time in the lab, though."

"Doing what?"

Sky gave up on the book, laid it in his lap and looked up with an air of extreme patience. "Once again, I do not know. However, I believe he's building something."

"Ohhh, a new project? What do you think it is?"

Sky shrugged. "This is Bridge we're talking about. Who knows?"

- - -

"Leg bone connected to the... thigh bone..." Bridge hummed softly to himself. Not that this had anything remotely to do with bones, except in the sense that good nutrition, including lots of buttery toast, built strong bones. So it did have something to do with bones, since if butter built them, his should be as strong as adamantium.

But enough about comic books. "And - the finishing touch!" He tightened the final screw and sat back, admiring the shiny surface, the neat construction. "Not a bad job at all, if I say so myself! And of course I am saying it, so it's not a bad job."

The sound of footsteps approaching alerted him. Bridge snatched his creation up and vainly tried to stuff it inside his SPD uniform.

"Hey Bridge! What've you got there?"

To his relief it was Boom, not Kat, who would have taken one look and seen right through him. Not that she had X-ray eyes, like Superman (comic books again!), but she did have a keen eye, like - well, like Kat. Bridge let himself relax. "Hi. I - uh - was repairing a toaster, that's all." He put it down on the counter, trying to look casual.

"Yeah?" As Boom came closer, Bridge snatched it up again, trying to hide it as much as possible in his hands. "Want me to take a look?" Boom grinned. "I can't mess up a toaster too much, can I?"

"Um. Well." Bridge started to back up towards the laboratory door. "No, no, I think I've got it."

"That doesn't look like one of our standard toasters-"

"I'll-let-you-know-if-it's-still-burning-my-toast-bye!"

Having made his escape, Bridge headed for his room, thankful that there was nobody in the halls to ask more questions. Not that there was a problem, of course, just that strictly speaking he shouldn't be using SPD equipment and SPD lab space to work on a private project. But now, with Gruumm defeated, they had a lot of spare time. And with Jack gone, Sky had wanted his own room and moved out. It was lonely in a room by himself with no one to talk to, even if Sky had always made faces and told him to either make sense or be quiet.

So, when the idea had hit him - a way to combine companionship with toast - well, what else was he supposed to do?

His room at last. Bridge closed the door behind him, went to his desk, and put the toaster down. "This is it, I guess," he muttered. "I wonder if Einstein felt like this. Wait, he wasn't an inventor. I wonder if Edison felt like this. Or Alexander Graham Bell. Or maybe Bill Gates. No, not Bill Gates; I'm not trying to take over the world, just have a slice of toast. I wonder who invented the toaster...?"

Making a mental note to look up the inventor of the toaster, Bridge reached out to activate it. There was a soft whirr. The round lights on the sides of the toaster blinked. There was a sound like a mechanical throat being cleared. And it spoke, in a cheerfully tinny voice.

"Hello. Are you my creator?"

Bridge blinked. "Well... I guess so. Yeah."

"Howdy! Would you like some toast?"

"Why, yes. Yes, I would. And make it buttery, please." Bridge grinned, glad no one but the toaster was around to see as his fingers automatically wriggled at the thought, as if already grasping at buttery toast. Not that a toaster could see, but if it could, it would be the only one around to see...

This was going to be great.

- - -

"Hey... have you seen Bridge?"

Sky frowned down at the small hand Syd had put on his arm to stop him in the corridor, and then transferred his disapproving gaze to her face. "Why does everyone keep asking me that? No, I haven't seen Bridge."

"Well, that's the problem, isn't it? No one has. He's spending most of his time in his room."

"He's been going to drills. Hasn't missed his duty patrols."

Syd tilted her head. "He missed a meal in the cafeteria. Second time in two days And you know Bridge and food."

Sky shrugged impatiently. "Maybe he's got a stomachache. Long as he does his job, none of our business." Ignoring Syd's frown, he brushed past her.

But it nagged at him as he continued on his way. Strange as Bridge was, this wasn't like him. Plus he was a Ranger. Part of the team. As leader of that team, it was Sky's duty to worry about him.

But was there anything to worry about? Bridge was an adult. Sort of. He could take care of himself.

- - -

"More toast?"

Bridge smiled, patted his full stomach, and then folded his arms behind his head and lay back on his bed. "No, I've had plenty."

"But it's buttery!" the toaster's voice said enticingly. "Just the way you like it."

"Sounds great, but I didn't make you just for toast."

"Why not? You created me as a toaster. By definition my role in the universe is the making of toast."

"If all I wanted was buttery toast, why would I have given you an enhanced artificial intelligence system?" Bridge turned his head enough to smile at the toaster sitting on his desk. "You're programmed to be interesting. Articulate. Knowledgeable. To think, and feel, and to talk about - about stuff. To be capable of so much more than just toast."

"I see! You meant me for a higher purpose! More meaningful accomplishments than hot buttered toast!"

"Yeah, you got it!"

"Of course, I should have known! Where should we start?"

"Well, I don't know-"

"An English muffin? A toasted bagel?"

Bridge sat up. "Umm... That's not exactly what I meant by 'more than toast'."

"Croissant, perhaps? Breakfast pastry? Cinnamon buns?"

"Maybe if we could get outside the bread family-"

"Waffles? Pancakes? Or perhaps a turnover?"

"No!" Bridge shook his head. "I mean, can't we talk about something besides food?"

"Certainly. What would you like to talk about?"

"I don't know." Bridge shrugged. "I programmed you with as much information as your data chips could hold. Think of something. What do _you_ want to talk about?"

"I want to know what it's like outside this room. Where you go. Where you work. What you do."

Bridge grinned. "Well, I'm a Power Ranger, and I work for Space Patrol Delta."

"Ohhh, impressive! What's it like, being a Ranger?"

"It's great! Helping people, stopping criminals, protecting the Earth from hostile aliens."

"Sounds very exciting!"

"Yeah! We're always getting blasted, or trapped in mirrors, or blown up, or sucked into timewarps, or beat up on, or stepped on by giant monsters, or... Well, I guess some of that doesn't sound so great, does it? But it's a very important job."

"So when you're out there, patrolling the city, saving lives and fighting powerful aliens..."

"Yes?"

"When you're with your teammates, and using your powers..."

"Yes?"

"And after you defeat your enemies and enjoy some well-deserved relaxation..."

"Yes? What do you want to know?"

"Do you eat toast?"

"I - huh?"

"It's a simple question. Do you eat toast out there? Toast that's not mine?"

"Well, sometimes..."

"You mean you let some _other_ toaster cook for you?"

"Well, I - I used to, before I made you."

"Oh sure, make excuses. How do I know you aren't still going to some other toaster?"

"I'm not going to any other toaster, I swear!"

"Maybe it's even worse than that! Maybe you're using - an _oven_! Maybe that's why you don't want my toast!"

"No, it's not like that! I love your toast!"

"You have a funny way of showing it." The toaster's voice was mournful. "Here I am, waiting patiently for you, slaving over a hot internal grill, and you don't even appreciate all the effort I go to."

"That's not true." Bridge leaned towards it and reached out a comforting hand to pat its top. "I do appreciate you."

"So - would you like any toast?"

With a sigh, Bridge gave in. "Okay. Sure, I'd love some."

- - -

"So - where's Bridge? I should say hello to him as long as I'm here." Jack looked inquiringly around at Syd, Z, and Sky as they all sat in the SPD lounge. While Sky was glad enough to have the former SPD Red Ranger visit, he frowned at the question.

"Yeah, 'where's Bridge' has become kind of a theme around here," Z said.

"What do you mean?"

"He's hardly ever around lately," Syd complained. "No hanging out here. No lightball. No socializing. No meals in the cafeteria."

"When he's not working, he's in his room," Z continued.

"Sky?" Jack asked. "What's going on?"

Sky shrugged. "How should I know? I'm not my Bridge's keeper."

Jack leaned forward. "No, but you're the red Ranger now. The leader. If someone on your team has a problem, it's your responsibility to help them."

"Yeah, right, like you were such a great example."

"I admit, I wasn't much at first, but I like to think I improved."

"Yeah, whatever," Sky muttered. He stood up.

"Where are you going?" Syd asked.

"I hate to admit it, but Jack's right. I'm going to find out what's up with Bridge." He started out, frowning but half relieved as he heard a chorus of voices behind him.

"We'll go with you!"

- - -

"Would you care for more toast?"

"No. Please no," Bridge groaned. "I'm stuffed. If I eat one more bite, I'll explode. If I even look at or think about any sort of toasted, fried, baked, grilled, heated, browned, broiled, or cooked in any way foodstuff made from wheat, corn, barley, oats, millet, rye, sorghum, hominy, or rice... I'll go insane. Please, I need some time to digest."

"That's reasonable. How long?"

"I don't know. I don't think I could eat anything but fruit and vegetables for at least a month."

"Please don't mention such disgustingly non-toasted foods to me," the toaster said primly.

Bridge groaned again, pulling at the waistband of his pants. "I've gained fifteen pounds in the last week. I don't think I can get into my uniform. I'll look terrible in my Ranger suit. Why do they have to be so tight, anyway? I need to go on a diet."

"A _diet_?" The toaster was silent for a few seconds, and then continued in a tragic tone. "How _could_ you?"

"How could I what?"

"Why did you create me if you don't want toast?"

"I _do_ want toast. Just not quite so much of it."

"And I suppose that gives you the right to ignore me? To reject me? To frustrate all my creative urges? I have feelings too, you know. I need to feel wanted. Loved. Valued."

"I do value you-"

"But you haven't touched my toast in hours."

"Oh, lord..." Bridge covered his face with his hands, trying to think. "Why can't you just go ahead and toast stuff? I don't have to eat it all."

"What's the purpose of toasting if nobody eats? What's the purpose of existence if nobody cares? What's the meaning of my life if you don't eat toast?"

"But if a tree falls in the forest and nobody hears, there's still a sound."

The toaster's voice was reproachful. "Now you're mocking me."

"No! Please, I'll eat more toast. Just give me some time."

"You've had the last 1.87 minutes. Would you care for some toast?"

"ARRRGGGG!"

Bridge curled up on his bed, and then froze when he heard a knock, accompanied by a voice from the other side of the door.

"Bridge! Bridge, what's wrong?"

"Uh... Nothing, Sky! I'm fine!"

"You didn't sound fine, yelling like that. Let us in."

"Oh, no..." Bridge mumbled, and then called back, "I'm - I'm taking a nap! Must have been a dream! Go away!"

"If you don't open this door right away, Officer Carson, I'm going to get Cruger over here!"

"NO!" Bridge leaped up, much to the dismay of his stomach. "All right, I'm coming." He turned to the toaster and hissed, "You be quiet! Don't want them to find out about you!"

A moment later he plastered a smile on his face as the door opened to reveal not only Sky but Syd, Z, and Jack. They peered at him, and then around at the room. Sky started to come in, and then stopped as Bridge stayed where he was, blocking the way.

"You see?" Bridge said. "I'm just fine. Just dandy. So now you can all go away."

"Yeah, right," Sky said. "What's been going on with you lately?"

"What do you mean?"

"What do you mean, what does he mean?" Syd demanded. "You've been acting funny. And you look as green as your old Ranger suit."

"And you haven't even said hello to Jack," Z said with a suspicious look.

"Who?" Bridge blinked. "Oh, right, Jack. Why, has he been gone?"

"Listen, Bridge," Sky said, taking a step and forcing Bridge to move back. "If you don't tell me what's going on right now, your ass is gonna be toast!"

"No! Don't say the 'T' word!" Bridge cried, but it was far too late.

"Did somebody ask for toast?" came a chirpily hopeful voice from behind him.

Sky froze. "What the _hell_ was _that_?" he said, staring into the room.

- - -

"So that's the story." Bridge sighed heavily.

Thankfully, the rest of them had gone after listening to Bridge's story and turning down several dozen offers of toast, muffins, flapjacks, crullers, pretzels, baguettes, tacos, and scones. It was just him and Sky. And the toaster. He tried unsuccessfully to stifle another groan.

Speaking - or thinking - of the devil... "Would either of you gentlemen like a biscuit?"

"Not even if it's buttery," Bridge said, his fingers stirring in only a faint echo of his usual gesture.

"This is ridiculous. I'm turning the damn thing off," Sky said, reaching for the toaster.

"Don't you think I would have done that?" Bridge said. "He doesn't have an 'off' switch."

"Okay. How do I pull the plug?"

"He doesn't plug in. He has an internal atomic power supply."

"So let me get this straight. You made this thing with no way to turn it off?"

"Turn me off? Turn me off?" the toaster protested. "What am I, a machine or something?"

"It just doesn't shut up, does it?"

"Has anyone ever told you it's extremely rude to talk about someone as if they're not there?" the toaster said.

"You want me to talk to you? Okay. Your buns are history." Sky tucked the toaster firmly under one arm. "Don't worry, Bridge, I'll take care of it. You'll never see this toaster again."

"What - what are you going to do to him?" Bridge asked faintly.

"Nothing violent." Sky grinned nastily and started out.

Bridge almost protested as the toaster shrieked, "Help, I'm being toaster-napped!" but another wave of nausea stopped him. He flopped back on the bed. Sky was right; it was for the best. The toaster should be put out of its misery. And everyone else's misery. He decided never to ask Sky what he had done with it. Better not to know. Still... he couldn't help wondering...

- - -

_The toaster's story might have ended in the trash bin Sky Tate dumped it into - but often life takes unexpected turns, even for a toaster, and so it was in this case. A passerby saw the gleam of metal and thought to himself, 'That looks like a perfectly good toaster!' When he decided to get rid of it (nine and a half hours later), the thought occurred to him that he might as well get something out of it besides forty-seven rounds of toast and a potato knish. _

_The small startup electronics company he eventually sold it to took it apart, analyzed it, put it back together, and based an entire new product line on it. It was very successful, and firmly established Crapola, Inc. as a major corporation. During the next 155 years, the toaster was redesigned, rebuilt, refined, replicated, and restored - but it always kept some core of its inner being. _

_Until finally, one day..._

- - -

"What have you got there?"

Dave Lister put the box down on their small table, wishing again that the mining spaceship Red Dwarf had enough room to permit private cabins. Or that he hadn't been assigned to share with Arnold Rimmer, who was also his superior officer - assuming you could use the words 'superior' and 'Rimmer' in the same sentence. "Been shopping," he said, opening the box.

Rimmer got up from his bunk and came for a look. "A toaster? What on earth for? I wasn't aware you can toast chicken Vindaloo and beer."

"It's more than just a toaster," Lister informed him. "It's the ideal breakfast companion. Says so right on the label." He pointed. "See? Talkie Toaster. Conversation _and_ toast. Plus it has an alarm function."

Rimmer snorted, an action made effortless by the size of his nostrils. "I can think of far more aesthetic breakfast companions than a toaster, thank you."

"Who said _you_ were invited?" Lister bent to talk to the toaster. "I bet you'd rather wake up next to a nice microwave instead of Rimsy anyway, wouldn't you?"

"Funny, Lister, smegging funny."

There was a soft whirr. The round lights on the sides of the toaster blinked. There was a sound like a mechanical throat being cleared. And it spoke, in a cheerfully tinny voice.

"Howdy! Would anyone like any toast?"

End

* * *


End file.
